Storm's Cage

by Mary Stone

  She fiddled with the end of her ponytail as her expression turned thoughtful. “Okay. Let me know the new alibi, and I’ll let you know if I’m willing to put my ass on the line for you. Even it might not work, you know? The ballistics evidence will still be difficult to get past, but I’ll look at it and see if there’s anything I can do.”

  Blinking a few times, Alex opened and closed his mouth. He’d prepared himself for a rebuff, and he’d been ready to bargain with her for even the slightest shred of assistance.

  But she’d just agreed. No second-guessing, no skepticism, just…yes.

  “You will?” Surprise stole all the authority from his voice, but at that point, he didn’t care. Amelia had more than just his trust. Knowing she was on his side gave him confidence that he might get this situation resolved.

  As she produced a keyring from her slacks, her stony expression returned. “Yeah, I will. But you owe me, Alex.”

  That went without saying.

  Nothing in life came free. Even in the most optimistic part of his brain, he knew better than to expect her to take on Gabriel’s case out of the goodness of her heart. And since Amelia wasn’t officially on the family’s payroll, any debts would naturally fall to him to pay.

  Though he wasn’t sure what kind of favors a woman like Amelia would call in, he was in no position to argue the point. Amelia was a kind person, but even saints had their limits.

  “Okay.” He straightened to his full height. “I owe you one. I won’t forget it.”

  “You won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

  The ominous tinge to the words raised the hairs on the back of his neck, but all he could do was nod. “Take care. Watch your back.”

  She touched one hand to her forehead in a casual salute. “You do the same.”

  As he pulled open the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel, he watched Amelia’s black sedan creep down the seldom-used stretch of asphalt. When the car was no more than a smudge in the distance, he let his head fall back and blew out a long sigh.

  Someday, maybe he’d finally figure out how to act around Amelia Storm.

  Maybe.

  He pulled his smartphone from the interior pocket of his black suit jacket. As he entered the code to unlock the screen, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  Before his meetup with Amelia, he’d been in the middle of a text conversation with Liliana D’Amato. Their discussion had revolved around the Dune book series, as well as their thoughts on the upcoming film adaptation. He’d made sure to tell her he’d be unreachable for an hour or more, and she’d sent a couple questions and comments for him to answer when he returned to his phone.

  Even with the interruption before their date on Friday, the night had gone far better than he could have expected. Liliana might have been ten years his junior, but they shared many of the same interests.

  When he’d pulled to a stop in front of a sorority house, he hadn’t expected to pick up a woman who was, in her own words, a seasoned sci-fi geek. Apparently, Alex needed to work on his stereotypical perceptions of college groups.

  Then again, Liliana had kept up with him drink-for-drink without becoming drunk, and she knew her way around a nightclub as well as any woman Alex’s age.

  The biggest surprise had come at the end of the night. He’d laid off the booze so he could drive, and in an act of solidarity, Liliana had also switched to nonalcoholic drinks.

  After Alex had handed the attendant a slip to validate his parking, he’d made a comment about how Liliana might have to remind him how to get back to her sorority house. Biting her bottom lip, she’d said, “Or we could go to your place.”

  He’d been taken aback for a split-second but recovered quickly. His knee-jerk response had been to turn her down and rattle off some nonsense about tradition, suggesting they wait for marriage. But he caught himself before any of the bullshit left his mouth. For all he knew, she’d just wanted to play quarters and drunken Street Fighter.

  Instead, he’d asked her what she wanted to do when they got to his place.

  With a pensive look, she’d twisted the shining diamond around her left ring finger—the diamond he’d given her before they’d entered the exclusive steakhouse to eat dinner. The memory of her reply still made his pulse race.

  Arranged marriage or not, he hadn’t expected the night to end with sex, but damn if he didn’t enjoy it.

  Pulling himself out of the reverie, he scanned the newest message, eager to see if his night might end on a good note.

  Hey, I took my exam early, and I don’t have class tomorrow. I was wondering if you wanted to do something tonight?

  He found himself smiling as his thumbs moved along the screen. Long day. Not sure I’m feeling the bar scene, but I suppose I could make an exception.

  Three dots at the bottom of the screen told him she had already started to reply. I’m not feeling it, either. We could just hang out at your house and watch some TV?

  He chuckled to himself. Watch TV, huh?

  She sent him a winking emoji, followed by one that was blowing kisses.

  I’ll pick you up in a half hour? If that works.

  Another instant response. Perfect. I’ll be ready.

  The tingle of anticipation rushed up to greet him, but the pleasant sensation stopped in its tracks when he returned his focus to the car. As he took in the looming monolith that was the expressway overpass, he reminded himself why he’d come here in the first place.

  Gabriel Badoni had been framed for the murder of a detective, and Alex didn’t need a badge to know that the Leónes were responsible. The uneasy truce with the rival family had held for the last half-decade, but he suspected that Ian Strausbaugh was a sign.

  The truce was crumbling.

  17

  Stepping beneath the shade of a covered porch, Amelia pulled off her sunglasses and clipped them to the front of her black dress shirt. She’d grown tired of rewashing the same three shirts over the past week, but the plain button-downs were her least eye-catching attire. Though the temperature was expected to reach eighty, Amelia had even pulled on her favored knit cardigan before she’d left for work that morning.

  As much as she wanted to look nice and wear the pretty jade green blouse Joanna had given her, she didn’t want Joseph Larson to think she’d dressed up for him. If the FBI would permit her, she’d come to work in a pair of coveralls for the remaining time she was stuck on the damn case with the smarmy agent.

  Which pissed her off.

  Why was it her responsibility to dress down so as not to attract a man? Why couldn’t he learn how to control his dick?

  Tightening her ponytail, Amelia glanced to the picture window beside a rich wooden door. The curtains had been pulled back, but the glare of the midmorning sunlight obscured most of the view. Based on the spotless tan siding, neatly arranged flowerbeds around the front porch, and the cozy set of patio furniture, the owner of this home was meticulous about its appearance.

  If Zane had been there, he’d have made at least three comments about the curb appeal and told her a story about watching House Hunters with his mom.

  Instead, Joseph Larson stood at her side. Other than the fact that he’d grown up in southern Missouri, Amelia knew next to nothing about Joseph’s life before the FBI. Like Amelia, he’d joined the military at eighteen, but all he’d ever mentioned were a couple recollections of pranks he and his fellow soldiers had pulled on one another during their deployment.

  Then again, Amelia hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about her life either. Most of what she’d done in the military remained classified at some level, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to regale Joseph with tales of the nearly four years she’d spent dating Alex Passarelli in high school.

  In fact, there was almost no part of her past that she felt comfortable discussing with Joseph. Her father had spent seventeen years as an alcoholic, her sister was a heroin addict, and her brother had been a dirty cop.

  As far as Amelia
was concerned, the Storm family history was better left untold.

  The crack of Joseph’s knuckles against wood snapped her back to the balmy September morning. Neither of them spoke as they waited for a sign that Wendy Ulmer, Russel Ulmer’s ex-wife, was home.

  Though Amelia had gone home from her meeting with Alex, showered, and crawled into bed, Joseph had spent his evening researching Russel Ulmer and Cole Irving.

  When he’d strolled into the conference room at eight-thirty to advise her he’d uncovered a potential lead, she’d been hard-pressed to conceal her surprise. Joseph always carried his portion of the workload, but when he’d dropped her off at her car the night before, he’d looked as tired as she’d felt.

  According to Joseph’s research, Cole Irving’s record was as squeaky clean as the porch on which they stood. In the ten years he’d worked as a corrections officer—first at the Cook County Jail, and then at MCC Chicago—he’d received only a couple frivolous complaints. He filed his taxes on time every year, and he and his long-term girlfriend lived well within their means.

  Cole was a regular Joe who worked for a living, liked to hike and camp with his brother, and loved his girlfriend.

  On the other hand, Russel Ulmer’s records raised more than a few questions. There wasn’t enough in his financial history to say for sure that he moonlighted in an illegal profession, but there was plenty to justify a deep dive into his background.

  Amelia was about to open her mouth to tell Joseph that she didn’t think Wendy Ulmer was home when the door inched open. A crack at first and then wide enough to reveal a petite woman with shoulder-length, golden blonde hair. A mint green t-shirt hung off one shoulder, but a handful of matching accessories gave the oversized shirt and leggings combination a fashionable rather than lazy feel.

  “Hello. Can I help you two?” The corners of the woman’s brown eyes crinkled as she offered them a polite smile.

  In tandem, Amelia and Joseph flipped open their identifications.

  Tucking his badge back inside his suit jacket, Joseph gestured to himself and then to Amelia. “I’m Special Agent Larson, and this is my partner, Special Agent Storm. We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and we were hoping we could ask you a few questions about your ex-husband, Russel Ulmer.”

  Like a switch had been flipped, Wendy’s amiable expression morphed into a venomous scowl. The change was so abrupt, Amelia wondered for a moment if the woman had been frowning the whole time.

  “I don’t know what you want with that piece of shit,” Wendy scoffed, “but he doesn’t live here. He never has. I haven’t said a word to him since the divorce was finalized, and I don’t want a damn thing to do with him.”

  Amelia knew a man or two she felt the exact same way about. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ulmer—”

  The woman snapped up a hand. “Truesdell. Wendy Truesdell.”

  Even as her curiosity mounted, Amelia nodded. “I’m sorry. We didn’t see the name change.”

  Though petulance still glinted in her eyes, the curl of her lip eased at the polite apology. “It’s recent. I changed back to my maiden name. Took me a while to get it to go through.”

  “That explains why we didn’t see it.” Amelia spared a quick glance to check Joseph’s reaction, but his face was the picture of calm. She returned her attention to Wendy and gestured to the foyer at her back. “Ms. Truesdell, we were hoping we could ask you a few questions about your ex-husband. He’s one of the prime suspects in the case we’re working.”

  Even as she stepped aside and ushered them through the doorway, Wendy let out a derisive snort. “So, that sick bastard’s finally going to get what’s coming to him?”

  Amelia crossed over the threshold, Joseph close behind. Too close, but she ignored the way he brushed a hand along the small of her back as he turned to pull the door closed.

  Gritting her teeth, Amelia followed Wendy out of the foyer, through the living room, and over to the open kitchen. Long rays of sunlight from the windows of a corner breakfast nook fell over granite counters and the stainless-steel appliances.

  As Wendy made her way to the end of the bar to pick up a mug, she closed the screen of a matte silver laptop. “Okay. What is it you want to know about Russel? What did he do?”

  Amelia inhaled the scent of coffee with devout longing, but she didn’t dare look at the mug. “We suspect he played a part in the murder of an inmate at the prison where he works.”

  The look was fleeting, but Wendy’s eyes widened. “Murder? That’s not what I would’ve figured the FBI would bring him down for.”

  Joseph’s eyebrow arched. “What did you think we’d bring him down for?”

  “The reason I divorced his slimy ass.” Wendy scoffed as she waved a hand to pictures decorating her refrigerator. “That’s me and my daughter, Olivia. We were at a softball tournament she played this summer in that one. She turned thirteen in June. Russel and I got married and moved in together when Liv was ten, and that’s about the time it started.”

  Amelia’s heart dropped, and Joseph’s jaw tightened.

  Blinking away the glassiness in her eyes, Wendy shook her head. “You know, the same thing happened to me when I was a kid, so you’d think I would have known. I still have nightmares about it, but honestly, it happening to my daughter feels so much worse. Russel, that…that son of a bitch would sneak into Liv’s room at night after I fell asleep.” With a sniffle, she swiped at her nose. “So, that’s what I figured the FBI would take him down for.”

  As Amelia opened her mouth to reply, Wendy waved a hand in front of her face. She didn’t appear to be finished with her tale.

  “It’s fine, though. I’ll settle for him being put away for the rest of his life for murder.” When her gaze returned to Amelia and Joseph, determination had replaced the pain and helplessness. “What do you need to know?”

  Though Joseph’s expression appeared calm and collected, Amelia didn’t miss the spark of ire in his pale eyes. “I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way, okay?”

  Wendy tilted her head as her eyes fixed on Joseph with a look of dread. “Okay.”

  “When you found out that Russel had been abusing your daughter, what was the reason you decided not to press charges?” Joseph paused, but he held Wendy’s gaze. “Did Russel threaten you, or did you receive threats from anyone else that kept you from going to the authorities?”

  Wendy dropped her gaze to the granite counter. She chewed on her lip as her whole posture seemed to melt. For a moment, it was as if the only thing keeping her upright was the sturdy granite she rested against. Several seconds passed in silence before Wendy seemed to have regained the strength to look them in the eye again.

  “No. It was my decision.” She shook her head. “That prick was friends with cops and other prison guards, and my daughter was scared to death when she thought she might have to go to trial. I wasn’t about to put her through that. But to answer your question, no. No one threatened us. I did it to protect my daughter from having to relive her pain in public. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen how those trials go. Innocents, victims…they’re treated worse than criminals. Every tiny misstep they make is brought out for public scrutiny. Sometimes, they even make it seem like the victim deserved it or asked for it. It’s terrible.” Wendy sniffled and dropped her gaze again as she quickly reached for a box of tissues to wipe her eyes.

  “I understand completely, Ms. Truesdell,” Joseph said with all the compassion of an android. “Now, when you and Russel were together, did you notice anything strange about his spending habits? Did it ever seem like he had more money than he should, or did he ever make extravagant purchases that you weren’t sure how he paid for?”

  Blotting at her weeping eyes, Wendy took a moment to regain composure before answering. “You know, actually, now that you mention it, yes.” The animosity returned to her eyes as she lifted her gaze to meet Joseph’s expressionless face. “When we were still dating, there wa
s this one time when he bought me a pair of Louboutins, supposedly for our six-month anniversary. Those heels cost close to two grand, and honestly, I just assumed they were knockoffs. But when I pawned them, after I kicked his sorry ass out, the shop owner told me they were authentic.”

  Amelia pulled a battered notepad and pen from the inner pocket of her handbag. With a click, she scribbled down an approximate summary of Wendy’s response. “What about vacations? Anything like that?”

  Wendy nodded. “Yeah. We went to all sorts of different places when we were dating. Vegas, New York, even Ireland. I asked him how he could afford it, and he just said that he’d been living cheaply and saving money for years.” She tapped herself on the chest with her free hand. “I’m a real estate agent, and I’ve been lucky enough to get in on the ground floor of a pretty successful agency, but even I can’t afford stuff like that.”

  Flipping to a fresh page, Amelia mulled over her next question. “A minute ago, you mentioned Russel was friends with cops. Can you remember any of their names?”

  She stared into the distance before finally shaking her head. “No. He just mentioned them by their first names a few times. Liam was one of them, and I think Ian might have been another? Maybe not. I can’t really remember. He didn’t talk about them much. I just knew they were friends. They went out for drinks sometimes.”

  Amelia bit down on her tongue to keep from spitting out a string of obscenities that would have brought a flush to a sailor’s cheeks.

  Ian.

  She knew of a CPD detective named Ian. A man who’d allegedly been shot and killed by one of Alex Passarelli’s lieutenants.

  Her heart hammered against her chest as she scrawled out the two names. Liam. Ian.

  “Okay.” As Amelia tucked the onslaught of paranoia into the back of her mind, she closed the notepad and retrieved a business card. “I think that’s all the questions I had.” She glanced to Joseph. “Agent Larson?”